


Fate Will Have It

by milkovichmouse



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, F/M, High School, M/M, Panic Attacks, kind of major death, mickeys pov, not ian or mickey, suicide in second chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 22:49:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5844010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkovichmouse/pseuds/milkovichmouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They couldn't be more different, the classic cliche of popular footballer Ian Gallagher and invisible outcast Mickey Milkovich do their best to ignore the existence of each other in their day to day lives, but does that become harder once Mickey's childhood friend and Ian's best friend commits suicide bringing them together in the most cruel-full of fates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fate Will Have It

High school was a drag, a zoo of bloodthirsty young adults always in some sort of competition. The blood they wanted came in the form of sex, high school is a sex pool where the guys crave pussy and the girls know better than to actually admit they crave dick every once in a while, but that’s a sexist hypocrisy society right there. Now, you ask anybody in this joint and they’ll argue to the heavens that they’re in fact grown adults but their lack of facial hair and pizza faces don’t fool me. The most puzzling part of it all are the teachers who choose to work in such shitholes, maybe when they decided to become an educator it was to actually make a difference in the lives of their students however they quickly learned there was no way of getting to us poor hormonal, ignorant souls though they still teach but with less vigor because no one is actually listening and the day goes faster and their mediocre paycheck comes quicker when there’s no extra effort being expelled, and why waste the energy anyway? So the phrase “love what you do and it will never become a job” is bullshit, at least around here anyway. The last known success story to come from the South Side of Chicago was from a guy named Guy Angelis who moved to California after graduation to become an actor, no one really knew who he was until he made it as an extra on Law & Order and even then we still didn’t know who he was because he played an background extra. No one’s heard of the guy, Guy, since so I take he hadn’t quite made it, either way that’s as glamourous as it gets.

Nobody who works as a high school teacher actually enjoys their job and it doesn’t help the students aren’t so excited to be here neither.

You’d think the jocks and cheerleaders who walk through the doors like they own the place smiling and fist pounding their buddies might enjoy the atmosphere a bit however, they don’t, because they’re all failing their classes and even though they party every weekend getting all the pussy and weed they want they know deep down that after graduation they’ll be working the McDonalds drive-thru.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that, you gotta make a living somehow but every morning they open their newspaper sitting at their used and bruised dining table in their shabby apartment surrounded by 4 kids that weren’t planned in the first place but are now stuck with because ‘Abortion is Murder’ their pastor told them, and on the first page of the paper will tell of a guy who just bought a 10 Million dollar mansion and the black and white picture printed at the bottom shows a kid that looks exactly like the one they used to laugh at in high school. And they’ll envy them because they have a better life.

But on the flipside that used-to-be nerd is still as nerdy as ever, how do you think he got that 10 Million dollar mansion? He went to Doctor School because that’s what his parents planted in his brain since he was just a newborn, and he made his parents proud becoming the #1 Plastic Surgeon in Chicago. Every week he has dinner with his parents and their friends and they rave about how proud of their boy they are and they ask him for a couple hundred bucks, just to pay their next bill and he gives it to them because when he goes home later that night it’s to an empty bed where he promptly takes out his Mac Book Pro and masturbates to the dirtiest video he can find on PornHub. The hard reality is when you’ve spent your entire life with your head in a textbook with dreams of being a rich doctor you never learn how to socialize, so he’s never been in a relationship and though he gets to touch strangers boobs everyday he’s still a 30 year old virgin. And when he goes to sleep he dreams of what it would’ve been like to be prom king.

How do I know this? Because I’ve lived here my whole life, I’ve heard the stories and though I’m only 17 you don’t get through 17 years of life in South Side without seeing some shit. I’ve also known all of these people practically since birth, I walk down the halls and see the same faces I’ve been seeing since kindergarten and even though they’ve seen mine too they still ignore me. And I’m fine with ignoring them too.

My name is Mickey by the way, Mickey Milkovich and two years ago my therapist told me I have this thing called Generalized Anxiety, it’s when you overthink things too much and suddenly feel like it’s the end of the world when in reality it’s only spilt milk, literally. The first time I had a panic attack I was 10 years old and dropped a glass of milk on the carpet, it was just my father home and see, if there’s one thing you should know about me it’s that my father is a horrible person, was, was a horrible person. He yelled and I cried and suddenly I couldn’t breathe properly, that’s what happens when you have a panic attack, you can’t breathe and everything gets hot. I don’t remember much after that, my therapist says that’s Selective Amnesia a.k.a my bodies choice to block out a traumatizing experience, which I think is a totally great thing because if there’s one person I can afford to forget about it’s a giant tomato-red face of Terry Milkovich.

Anyway, if there’s a second thing you need to know about me, it’s that I’m self-assured, my therapist says arrogant, I say confident, she says conceited, and I say ‘why is that a bad thing anyway?’ She never replies.

My English teacher tells me I’m a pretty good writer, my therapist says to use that and start up a journal and I tell her the phrase ‘pretty good’ means not terrible.

She hates when I do that, be a smart-ass but I can’t help it, I’m just so ‘pretty good’ at it.

I count the amount of times she rolls her eyes at me each session, the record is 13.

If there’s a third thing you must know about me it’s that I think, a lot. In fact 9 times out of 10 I’m inside my own head. It might be part of my anxiety or just my huge ego that’s tells me it’s better to listen to my own brain than the rest of the idiots I’m forced to be around.  
It’s also a lot better than talking to myself out loud.

Right now I’m sitting in History class, the teacher is asleep and so are half the students, don’t feel too shocked, this is a regular occurrence, practically every day in fact, the students sitting here now is only half the actual class because most figured what’s the point in showing up anyway.

Why am I still here? Because I don’t want to fail, because sometimes I opening the textbook and I read because sometimes Mr. Hart is awake and he gives pop quizzes worth our entire grade. 

Most importantly though, I don’t want to live in Chicago for the rest of my life. Don’t get your hopes up too high, I don’t plan on being the next South Side success story, I just can’t take it here any longer.

I realize I’ve been looking out the windows this entire class period, again thinking to myself. It’s a bit of a waste considering tomorrow is Thursday, Mr. Harts favorite pop quiz day because his wife works late tonight which means he won’t be up all night listening to her scream about nothing and can get a good night’s rest. Don’t ask me how I know this shit I just do.

Now turning my focus to the clock above the door I realize the bells about to ring and I’m not sure if that’s a blessing or curse because math is next and if I have to hear Mrs. Hugh’s lisp one more time I may kill myself.

And it’s at that exact moment when I hear it, when we all hear it, hell, I’m sure all of Chicago heard it when Jessica Landon ran down the hallway of Canaryville High School, mascara running down to her feet, wearing a layer of blood screaming bloody murder, “HE’S DEAD!” over and over.

And I can’t tell if it was bloody coincidental or a cruel joke.


End file.
